


Like a moth drawn to the flame

by LostInFiction13



Category: Murder Most Unladylike Series - Robin Stevens
Genre: Again, Help, I have no clue anymore, I need sleep, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, will I continue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:54:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28823289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostInFiction13/pseuds/LostInFiction13
Summary: the light that draws us in is dangerous if we're not carefulOrlet's rant about mothsWritten for the prompt:. The light was always on
Relationships: Stephen Bampton/Bertie Wells
Kudos: 5





	Like a moth drawn to the flame

Whenever Bertie walked past the house, the lights were always on. Whether it be the middle of summer, or the depths of winter, night or day, the light was always on. Just one flickering bulb in the upstairs window, half hidden by a cork board and crime. 

Daisy, despite what she said, hated it. It gave her the heebie-jeebies as her friend Beanie would say. Bertie, on the other hand, seemed to switch minds with his usually curious- minded sister. Like a moth, he was drawn to the flame. 

Perhaps one may consider it unfair it compare Bertie Wells to a moth. He was an Honourable afterall. But for the purpose of this story, and for the simile, he is a moth. (does that make it a metaphor?). 

Bertie Wells decided one day to knock on the door of the house, his sister squealing at him from where she stood in the middle of the road, causing traffic chaos. There was, to either utter disappointment or bucketfuls of glee (depending on whether one is Team Bertie or Team Daisy), no answer. Bertie retrieved his sister from her spot in the middle of the road, yelling apologies to an old lady with candyfloss hair in a mini as she beeped at them. 

In the window however, through the grime and the grit and illuminated by that one blasted bulb that never switched off, a figure stood. He watched the two siblings walk down the street, the boy carrying the girl's school bag as she skipped along. He scratched his head, running his fingers through the wiry red strands, making it stand on end even more than it already was. 

Perhaps you are wondering who this figure is, with the dirty fingernails, red hair, filthy windows and an inability to switch a light switch? Well I can tell you. His name was Stephen Bampton. He was not an Honourable. Indeed, he was not any one of any importance at all. He didn't go to school, his friends were next to none and on days he did venture outside, people crossed the street, scared for their lives. The catch? Stephen Bampton was also a moth. And, as we know from Moth Bertie, moths are drawn to the light. 

I bet you can't guess who owned Stephen Bampton's light. I can tell you if you like. 

A certain Honourable Bertie Wells, with his golden hair and perfect posture, his rich family and secret agent uncle. 

So did Bertie too have a light? A constant shining presence to brighten up his day, just a little bit? Whether it be the middle of summer, or the depths of winter, night or day? 

I can tell that to you too. The answer is simple, and you may have already guessed it. Unlike Stephen Bampton, Bertie Wells did not have a physical light, eating away at the electricity bill. That, I suppose, is a lie. He had lights, of course he did. What I meant was, Bertie Wells' light was not a light at all, but a person. A person who, on this particular day, swings from her brother's arm as he walks her home from school, listening happily as she jabbers on about the new girl 'Hazel' and detectives and pirates and everything else her 8 year old brain can come up with. 

Daisy Wells. 

Perhaps everyone in the world is a moth. Perhaps everyone is drawn to a light. Or perhaps some people are moths, and some people are lights, like Bertie and Daisy were. And perhaps everyone, from the moment they act upon the drawing of the light, are doomed. Or, perhaps, that only happens should one find the wrong light. Or perhaps, that was only the case for the Honourable Bertie Wells and the Common Stephen Bampton. 


End file.
